


Late In The Midnight Hour

by afteriwake



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s his lifeline, and he’s hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late In The Midnight Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aaronlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/gifts).



> I was offering holiday fic over at my personal journal last year, and **Aaronlisa** asked for Criminal Minds fic a few seasons back with the prompt “Garcia  & Reid - phone calls in the middle of the night.”

It had begun during his addiction. Or rather, during the early days of his recovery. He had kept it a secret, as best he could, until he sought help. The others knew, but none of them helped in the ways he didn’t want and helped in the way he did, which was by being available. So some nights he would call JJ, and others Morgan, and sometimes even Prentiss. 

But when he totally and completely wanted to forget, he called Garcia. Because Garcia knew exactly what to do to take his mind off of things.

The first time, when he was in San Diego for a seminar on profiling where he was the lead speaker, he got hit with such an urge that it nearly knocked him to his knees. He knew the others were on a case; in fact, he’d tried to get to them but Strauss had said no, that this seminar was just as important and the others could solve the case without him. She was not in the loop as to what he was going through, for very good reason, and he couldn’t argue that he was in the early days of recovery from addiction and he needed all the help he could get.

So he started calling. No one answered, which made him assume phones were off while they were doing something important, and at two in the morning he hoped it was taking down the killer and not trying to catch a good night’s sleep. And that only left Garcia. He hit the speed dial for her number and waited.

“Reid?” she said, her voice tinged with sleep. “Hey, sweetcakes, whatcha need?”

He was quiet. No one ever asked what he needed, they asked what he wanted. And never in an accusatory way, but in a way that he knew meant they didn’t appreciate the call out of the blue from him the first few moments after he got it. “I just need to talk to someone.”

“Well, I’m here for anything, whether it be actual dialogue or my use as a sounding board. Just give me one sec.” There was a rustle on her side, and he could hear her whispering. Kevin was probably in bed next to her, and being woken up that early in the morning there even though it was still the previous day where he was probably wasn’t his idea of a great wake-up call. After about two more minutes, her bubbly voice spoke. “I’ve got all the time in the world for you right now. What’s up?”

And he started rambling, taking advantage of her sounding board offer. She’d occasionally agree with him, every once in a while ask a question, but generally let him go on about how he was feeling, how much he hated Strauss at the moment, about how there was a guy selling weed on the corner and he wanted to see if he could get a hook-up to his stuff, and finally how pathetic he felt. And that was where she really spoke up.

“Spence, sweetie, you are not pathetic! You are the polar opposite of pathetic! You read more than any other human being I know, and you’re super smart, and you did a smart thing tonight by calling me instead of going out and trying to buy drugs. If you were pathetic you wouldn’t have bothered to call me after no one else picked up. But you did, so you’re not pathetic. And if I ever catch you calling yourself pathetic I’ll hug you into submission and the admission that you’re awesome. Comprende, Senor Smarty-pants?”

He was smiling by the end of his conversation, because after that she took the reins and engaged him in a real conversation about other stuff, running from one subject to another with little or no pause. He’d been on the phone with her for two hours before he remembered he needed to be up at six to get ready for the seven o’clock breakfast honoring the speakers. He hung up, and immediately moved her to the top of his mental “call if I’m having issues” list.

He’d call her weekly. Kevin would give him dirty looks the nights afterwards, if their paths happened to cross, but after twenty minutes of muttering and complaining around her one morning she asked Reid if she could tell him and then set him straight. After that Kevin always seemed to have a second cup of Reid’s favorite coffee the next morning and found some reason to be in the bullpen around the time Reid would show up. The extra support helped more than he knew.

Eventually the phone calls tapered as he got more control over his addiction and his jonesing, but if there was a particularly bad night she was there on the other end of the phone, ready and willing to get his mind off that and onto something else. So when she called him one night at three in the morning, he woke up immediately. “Is everything okay, Garcia?”

“Kevin got into a car accident. I had a craving for Chunky Monkey an hour ago and he went to the convenience store and his car got involved in a front end collision and it was bad and he’s in the hospital and I don’t know what to do. Morgan’s on his way to pick me up to take me but I’m scared. And it’s all my fault! If I hadn’t had this craving he’d be here in bed with me and not in a hospital.”

“It’s not your fault, Penelope. It isn’t. Don’t think it is.”

“You know statistics and probability, Spence. If I hadn’t had the craving he wouldn’t have gone out and he wouldn’t have been hit.” She started crying, and Spencer wished he was there right now to give her a giant hug.

“You’re right, I do know probability and statistics. And I know that the model car Kevin drives holds up well in front end collisions, and he has a 2003 model which has airbags in the steering wheel, plus he told me about two years ago he had airbags put in the doors for extra measure. The probability that he’s going to walk away from the accident with minor to moderate injuries is higher than the probability that he has severe injuries. How did you find out about the accident?”

She sniffled. “The police called.”

“And how did they get your number?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he keep it written down in his wallet as an emergency contact?”

Another sniff. “I don’t think so.”

“Then the chances are good he was conscious and awake enough to tell them. If Morgan gets there soon you can tell him to come pick me up and I’ll go to the hospital with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“For the last few years you’ve taken my phone calls at numerous odd hours of the night. The least I can do in return is sit around a hospital with you.”

“Thanks, Reid. I’ll have Morgan come get you on the way. And Reid?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for cheering me up. I feel better.”

“Just returning the favor, Garcia.”

“Well…thanks. See you in a few.” With that she hung up, and he began to get ready for what might be a long night. But if he could help out a friend who’d been a solid support for him in his times of need, then it was worth a short night.


End file.
